


Welcome to my House

by thundercaya



Series: The Workplace Warzone [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercaya/pseuds/thundercaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’ve been looking for people to help me with a project that involves a lot of writing. I’d like to tell you about it, if you’d be interested.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to my House

James Madison had survived. He had gotten through his presentation without ruining the whole thing. Part of him, of course, wished he hadn't, because the problem with doing something well (or well enough, in this case) was that one might be asked to do it again. Oh sure, he could speak up during meetings and hold conversations, but addressing the entire committee completely on his own had been as terrifying as he'd imagined, and he didn't want to think about having to ever do it again. In fact he didn't want to think about anything. All he wanted to do was go off somewhere to be by himself for as long as he reasonably could.

It seemed being by himself wasn't in the cards just yet as someone called his name.

"Mr. Madison!"

Alexander Hamilton, another member of the committee. One much more outspoken than Madison--or anyone else on the committee, or possibly the planet Earth, really. The last person that anyone who wanted to be alone would want to be with. Madison turned around to face him. "That is who I am, yes."

Hamilton chuckled, probably taking it as a joke rather than as an unenthusiastic greeting. "That was a great talk you gave."

Now Madison felt a little bad about being rude, and therefore grateful that Hamilton didn't seem to have taken it that way. "Really? I thought it was maybe a bit... awful."

"Well, you could have benefited from some eye contact--"

"While the presentation may have benefited from eye contact, I myself, personally, would not have."

"Right. Well. Your points were all solid and that's what matters."

"Well, the points are the easy part," Madison said. "Honestly, I'd be a lot happier if I could just write everything down and let people read it themselves."

Hamilton's face lit up. "I am absolutely _thrilled_ to hear you say that. I've been looking for people to help me with a project that involves a _lot_ of writing. I'd like to tell you about it, if you'd be interested."

"Well...." Madison wasn't _not_ interested, but if it turned out he didn't want to work on the project once he knew the details, he most certainly did not currently have the social facilities to be tactful about declining. "Maybe," Madison said. "But can we talk about it later? I have to be somewhere."

"Oh, of course." Hamilton reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Give me your phone number," he said, shoving the phone into Madison's hands. "Maybe we can talk about it over a drink tonight. I know some good bars in town."

As he typed his number into Hamilton's phone, Madison wondered if the other man realized how flirty that sounded. _Was_ he flirting? He knew Hamilton was married, and could see the ring on his finger if he didn't already, but that didn't always stop people.

"I, uh, don't drink," Madison said, handing the phone back.

"Oh.” Hamilton slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Why not?"

"A myriad of reasons, the most important of which being that I take a lot of medication. Also people with depression shouldn't drink seeing as alcohol is a depressant."

"Oh, right," Hamilton said, averting his gaze. "Who would do a stupid thing like that?" He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you don't have to drink. I won't judge you for ordering a Shirley Temple or something."

"Everyone else will," Madison said.

"How about dinner, then?"

God, he really did sound like he was flirting.

"Listen I'm not really a big fan of that whole... going out thing. Too many people."

"Right. I understand. Well, what about something with less people?"

"Fewer people?"

"Fewer?" Hamilton repeated, thoughtfully. "Maybe fewer. Probably fewer. Anyway. Why don't you come to my house? We can have dinner with my family, then discuss things over coffee."

Oh good. Not flirting anymore.

"I can't drink coffee at night."

"Over dessert, then."

Madison wished he'd started with a firm no rather than excuses. With the man working so hard to accommodate him, he almost had to agree to meet.

"I wouldn't want to impose on your wife."

"It's no imposition," Hamilton assured. He paused. "Actually, I should check." He took his phone back out and started typing.

"Wait!" Madison exclaimed, more loudly than intended. He cleared his throat. "If you tell her you already invited me, she might say it's fine even if it isn't."

"Very astute," Hamilton said. "I'll say I'm _thinking_ about asking you. That way there's no pressure."

"Good plan," Madison said. He made a show of looking at his watch. "I really do have to go...."

"Go right ahead," Hamilton said. "I'll text you when I get her answer."

  


The answer came right away. _We're on!_ Then; _This is Alex btw._ Then his address. On the one hand it was good to know what was happening so Madison could begin preparing himself. On the other hand, he regretted making the date to begin with. He considered backing out, but a dinner date would eventually end and _cancelling_ a dinner date could have consequences that never went away.

 _Great._ he texted back. _I'll be there._

_  
_

Hamilton met Madison outside and let him in the gate. "Glad you could make it, James," he greeted. "Uh. Can I call you James?"

"It's not the worst thing you could call me."

Hamilton let out a clipped laugh. As they walked up to the front door he said; "You'll need to take off your shoes." 

For a second Madison was certain that he'd put on one black sock and one blue this morning, but when he took off his shoes he was relieved to find that they were both black.

"Eliza!" Hamilton called, taking off his jacket and hanging it up. "We're here!"

Hamilton's wife appeared, a warm smile on her face, and gave Hamilton a peck. "Welcome home, darling." She turned to Madison. "And you must be Mr. Madison."

"Mrs. Hamilton.... Nice to meet you."

"You as well. May I take your jacket?" Once the jacket was hung up she led them to the living room. "I'm almost done and the kids should be down any minute. Why don't you take a seat?"

"Use my chair," Hamilton said, gesturing to the armchair. "If you're on the couch when the kids come down, they'll jump on you." 

Madison complied. Moments later, said children ran down the stairs. "Daddy! Daddy!" they greeted.

"Philip, Angie, say hello to Mr. Madison."

"Hello, Mr. Madison," they said in unison, though from Angie it was more like "Mr. Manison."

The next moment, Angie looked questioningly at Philip, who grinned at her and nodded.

"The floor is lava!" Angie declared, jumping onto the couch on one side of her father, Philip doing the same on the other side. Hamilton humored them, pulling his feet up.

"Mr. Madison, the floor is lava," Philip insisted when Madison made no move.

"Philip, if someone doesn't want to play a game, we don't make them," Hamilton said.

"No, I'm playing," Madison said. For a moment the children stared at him. Of course they were used to adults not acknowledging the existence of floor lava, but someone acknowledging and not avoiding it was new to them. Philip got it first.

"Daddy, he's burning up!" he said, shaking his father.

"He's melting! He's melting!" Angie shrieked, jumping up and down. "Daddy, help him!"

"Don't try to help me," Madison said. "This is the decision I've made."

"Okay kids!" Hamilton said. "The floor is an ice rink now, so why don't you skate, _carefully_ , to the dining room and help your mother set the table?"

The kids jumped down from the couch and made their mock-graceful way to the dining room.

"Too much?" Madison asked.

"James, never have children."

"I absolutely was not planning on it."

Eliza walked in. "Everything is almost ready, but Philip wants to cut the roast and he wants you to help him."

Hamilton stood. "Will do."

Eliza moved to follow him, but paused when Madison made no move to get up. She turned to him. "Is everything all right?"

"Mrs. Hamilton," he said, standing,  "I'm terribly sorry. I neglected to-- That is, rather, I forgot to-- I mean, I should have, before--"

"Yes, Mr. Madison?" she prompted.

"I'm allergic to peanuts."

"Oh! Well, I don't think.... Hold on." She tilted her head and touched her fingers as she ran through the meal in her head. She smiled. "Mr. Madison, we are in the clear."

They walked into the dining room where Angie was seated and Philip was serving portions of the roast. They sat, Eliza said grace, and the meal began.

"So Mr. Madison," Eliza said, "my husband sent me a text today raving about your presentation. Could you tell me a bit about it?"

Madison stiffened. "I'm sorry, but I don't have my notes."

"Oh, I don't need the full presentation. Just a little rundown."

"I can understand why those would _seem_ like two different things, but they're actually not."

"Oh...."

"Philip, Angie," Hamilton said. "One sentence at a time, tell me a story."

"Is everybody playing?" Angie asked excitedly.

"Just you two," Hamilton said, "but we'll all be listening.

  


Once dinner was through, Eliza ushered the children from the table. "I'm going to put the kids to bed. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you, Betsey," Hamilton said, receiving another peck from her.

"Mrs. Hamilton," Madison said, "thank you for dinner."

"Any time, Mr. Madison."

Once she left the room, Madison clapped his hands together. "So which way is your office? I want to hear about this project of yours. I can't wait to get started. Let's do this."

Hamilton sighed. "James, are you all right?"

"Great. I'm great. I'm so great. I'm just so--great."

"You're dying to get out of here, aren't you?"

Madison deflated. "I might already be dead."

Hamilton pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologize. I got overexcited and didn't realize it might be... overwhelming to approach and befriend you and bring you to my house to meet my family all on the same day as your obviously very difficult presentation. We can discuss my project another time."

Madison was relieved, so relieved, that Hamilton had pieced it together without having to be told, but at the same time he was _mortified_ that the man had noticed. Of course he couldn't have it both ways--people accommodating him without realizing that he needed to be accommodated--but it never stopped being disappointing.

"Next time should be easier," Madison offered, "since I'll already know everyone."

"Next time," Hamilton said, "I'll invite you over when no one else is here."

"That's the best idea I've ever heard."

Hamilton walked him out. Moments later, safely alone in his car, Madison understood that nothing bad had actually happened and it was distressing, as always, how little that actually mattered. He was just as wound up as he had been after his presentation and if he wanted to come down enough to actually sleep tonight, he would have to make himself feel better. He knew exactly how he wanted to do that, but he didn't want to wait until he got home and he couldn't just sit outside of Hamilton's house. He willed himself to drive a few blocks to the McDonald's and parked there. He pulled out his phone and opened a blank email.

 _Thomas, holy FUCK_.


End file.
